Drifting
by TheShunnedPrince
Summary: When Dean calls him at Stanford, Sam knows something is wrong.
1. Chapter 1

Sam stared at his book, trying and failing to study. He knew he should be paying attention because he had a huge law theory test tomorrow evening, but he couldn't stop thinking about Jess. God, she was incredible. Sam had to ask her out but he had no idea how. If only Dean were here…

No, he would not think about Dean. His brother was part of his past life, and Sam wanted absolutely nothing to do with his past. Unfortunately, that meant Sam had to come up with a plan all by himself.

An hour and several absurd ideas later, Sam decided to just go to her room and invite her to a movie or something. Something casual. Sam sighed, mustering up courage, and stood up to walk to the door.

Then his phone rang. Sam groaned and ran a hand over his face. He reluctantly walked over to where his phone lay on the couch and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. He had half a mind to ignore it, but visions of Dean and Dad hurt or dead plagued his mind. So Sam picked up the phone.

At first, Sam heard nothing but heavy breathing. He opened his mouth to say something when he heard a familiar voice.

"Dammit! Stupid thread!" the voice grumbled. Sam's breath caught. He hadn't heard that voice in a long time, and even though he tried to deny it, he missed it.

"Dean?" Sam asked softly. There was silence on the other end. And then,

"Sammy? That you?" Dean asked, voice thick with emotion. He sounded thoroughly confused, which threw Sam off.

"Dean, what's wrong?" Sam said, deciding to ignore the fact that Dean had just called him Sammy. It felt wrong talking to his brother, but no matter how much Sam yelled at himself to hang up, he couldn't do it. It was like his hand was glued to the phone.

"Nothin'. Nothing's wrong," Dean answered. Even without seeing Dean's face Sam could tell his brother was lying.

"Then why'd you call me?" Sam asked. A hint of irritation crawled into his voice. Now Dean was just wasting Sam's time.

"I didn't call you," Dean sighed, sounding tired. "So quit snappin' at me. Don't worry, I'll hang up now and leave you to your frat parties, or studying, or whatever the hell else you do in college." Sam took a deep breath to refrain from shouting at his brother.

"If you didn't call me, then who did?" Sam said.

"I dunno, Sam. Look, I probably sat on my phone and it called you or something. You can go now," Dean sighed, his words slurring slightly. Sam raised his eyebrows.

"You drunk?" he asked. Because Dean sure did sound drunk. His words were jumbled and he sounded exhausted. Dean let out a harsh laugh, and Sam winced as it turned into a hacking cough.

"I wish, Sammy. I would kill for some beer right now. Sadly, the fridge is a bit too far away at the moment."

Sam frowned."Wait, what? Dean, are you hurt?" Sam could hear the concern in his own voice, and he cursed himself. Dean was in the past. He shouldn't have to worry about Dean anymore. But dammit, Dean was his big brother, and Sam would probably never stop worrying about him.

"I'm fine, Sammy. Don't worry 'bout me," Dean mumbled.

"It's Sam, not Sammy," Sam snapped, and Dean chuckled.

"Whatever, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam responded, smirking a little.

Why did talking to his brother feel so good? Sam had gone to Stanford to _escape_ his Dean. No, not his Dean. He had run away to escape his dad. But wasn't Dean a problem too? Suddenly, Sam couldn't remember why he had ever wanted to leave his brother.

"Dean, where's Dad?" Sam asked softly. There was a pause on the other end.

"Dean?" Sam prompted. Sam heard Dean sigh, and then there was the creaking of springs, so Dean must have sat down on some crappy motel bed.

"Dad's out," Dean stated curtly.

"Out where?" Sam pushed, already knowing the answer.

"He's out on a hunt somewhere."

"So he left you alone?"

"Sam, it's not like that-" Dean protested.

"God, why the hell do you always defend the man? You're hurt and he left you alone!" Sam snapped.

"So did you," Dean muttered softly.

It would have hurt less if Dean had stabbed him with a knife.

"How bad are you hurt, Dean?" Sam whispered, choosing to change the topic.

"Sam, I'm fine."

"How. Bad."

"Werewolf clawed me up pretty good. I've got some scratches on my chest and wrists. But it's fine, Sammy. They aren't that deep."

"Dean, you can barely talk, and you sound fucking exhausted. I'm guessing the cuts are pretty deep. You probably can't stitch yourself up, can you?" Sam scolded, running a hand through his hair.

"Well, if only there was somebody here, maybe my brother Sam, to stitch me up," Dean deadpanned.

"Where are you, Dean?" Sam asked, letting the comment slide.

"I dunno. Some shithole town in North Dakota."

"Dean, get your ass to Bobby's," Sam ordered.

"Oh c'mon, Sam. 'S not that bad," Dean protested, but Sam was having none of it.

"I'll call Bobby to let him know you're coming."

"Sam. No."

"Please, Dean?"

"You better not be doing your puppy eyes."

"I totally am."

"Fine! Call Bobby or whatever the hell makes you feel better, you bitch."

"I'll call him. Just drive safe," Sam said, grinning in triumph.

"Of course, Sam. I would never crash my Baby," Dean said, sounding genuinely offended.

"Oh, and one more thing, Dean," Sam said. God, he felt like an idiot even thinking about doing this, but he needed the help.

"Yeah?" Dean asked eagerly. Sam sighed and stared up at the ceiling, preparing himself for the teasing.

"I haven't got all day, Sammy," Dean pestered, and Sam almost laughed because he knew that Dean would stay talking to his little brother all day even it it meant he would bleed out on the motel bed.

"How d'you ask out the most amazing girl you've ever met?" Sam choked out. There was silence, and then Sam heard Dean explode in laughter. Sam flinched and held the phone a few inches away from his ear.

"God, Sam. You gotta stop making me laugh 'cause it hurts. What's her name?" Sam could almost hear the smirk in Dean's voice.

"Jess. Her name's Jess and she's fucking perfect, Dean. I have no idea what to do." Sam expected Dean to make a joke, or tease him, but Dean surprised Sam.

"Sammy, you're a nice guy and she seems like a nice girl. Just go up to her and ask to study together or whatever it is you crazy college kids do in your free time," Dean said. Sam felt like corners of his mouth go up, and his face flushed.

"Thanks, Dean. Take care of yourself, okay? Call me when you reach Bobby's."

"You too, Sammy."

"It's Sam."

"Whatever, bitch."

"Jerk."

Sam put down the phone with a sigh. He tried to tell himself that everything would be fine, that Dean would get to Bobby's safely and Bobby would patch him up. But Sam couldn't fight off the sense that something would go wrong.

He picked up the phone again and dialed Bobby's number. It rang four times and then went to voicemail. Dammit, Sam really hoped Bobby wasn't out on a hunt. He decided to leave a message.

"Hey Bobby, it's Sam," he started, and then cleared his throat. There was no doubt that Bobby knew about Sam's whole escape to Stanford.

"Uh, Dean called earlier and turns out he got clawed up pretty bad by a werewolf. I sent him to your place to, uh, heal. Take care of him for me, okay? Call me as soon as you get this. Thanks, Bobby."

Sam ended the call and collapsed on the couch. _I should talk to Jess,_ he thought. He heaved himself up, and stomped over to the bathroom down the hall to fix his hair. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, trying to look confident.

"Sam Winchester will ask Jessica Moore on a date today," he stated. He looked okay even if his shirt was a bit wrinkled. Sam took a deep breath, and tried to forget about Dean. He tried to stop imagining gruesome scenarios where Dean never makes it to Bobby's house. Sam cleared his mind of every thought except Jess. Then he took a deep breath, and walked toward his future, leaving Dean and the past behind.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean almost collapsed on the bed with relief after the call ended. Talking to Sam and hearing his little brother's voice after months hurt more than the bleeding claw marks across his chest and wrists.

The worst part was that Sam had sounded _happy_ , happier than he had ever been while he was with his family. Dean knew he was being selfish and that he should be glad his brother was happy. But at the same time he was thinking _was I really that bad of a big brother?_

Dean sighed, and cautiously stood up, wincing when it pulled his cuts. Damn, they were deep. It was his fault, he had been distracted on this hunt. Probably because it had only been a week since his father had just left him with no explanation.

Everybody abandoned him and it was really starting to piss Dean off. He just wanted to curl into a little ball and call it quits but he knew he couldn't do that because there were people out there who needed to be saved, and he still had to look after Sammy.

So Dean grabbed his denim jacket, and allowed himself to groan in pain as he pulled it on. After all, there was nobody here to yell at him for being weak. Well, nobody but himself. He was furious for slipping up and telling Sam that he was injured. Dean hadn't really expected Sam to care though, so that was a pleasant surprise.

But now he had to head over to Bobby's house. Dean hadn't seen Bobby since...well since Sam left which was a little over a year ago. Dean knew Bobby occasionally texted dad coordinates for a hunt, but besides that there had been no other contact. And then dad had left and now it was dad texting Dean coordinates for hunts.

Dean checked the poorly wrapped bandages on his wrists. They were soaked in blood, but at least they were helping to stop the flow. Dean wrapped a hand protectively around his torso, and picked up his duffle bag in the other. Then he painfully shuffled out the door and into the motel parking. He smiled as his car came into his sight. He opened her trunk and dumped his bag next to the shotguns and knives. He sat down in the driver's seat with a groan.

The second he turned the key into the ignition, the familiar sound of the Impala's motor filled Dean's ears, and all the tension left his body. He put in a tape, and soon Metallica boomed from the car as Dean drove down the dark highway.

After about an hour, the sun had set and the music was causing a pounding in Dean's ears that amplified his headache.

"Dammit," he cursed and jabbed his finger on the off button. The music cut off and it was silent in the car. Dean's phone rang and he hoped it wasn't Sam. Dean hoped his brother was somewhere hitting it off with that Jess girl, not worrying about his crap older brother. Dean glanced at the caller ID and sighed in relief when he saw it was Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby," Dean greeted. He heard a grunt on the other line.

"Sam called," Bobby stated, getting right to the point.

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised. That kid's pretty stubborn," Dean joked, trying for a light turn. As usual, Bobby was having none of it.

"So you got clawed by a werewolf, huh?" Bobby asked. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, sharply turning the wheel to avoid skidding off the road. God, his whole chest felt like it was on fire and he could tell that his wrists were dripping blood. Dammit, he had just cleaned the Impala's seats and now they would probably be stained red. Again.

"Yeah, Bobby, I did. Can you get to the point?"

"Sure, boy. Let's start with why the hell you were huntin' alone? You idjits know better," Bobby scolded.

"S not my fault that dad left," Dean whined. There was a pause on the other line. "Bobby, you still there?"

"John left you alone?" Bobby asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. By now Dean was irritated.

"Sheesh, Bobby. First Sam and now you. I can handle myself without dad," Dean half yelled.

"Well apparently you can't, considering you're on your way to my place for help," Bobby pointed out.

"If you're gonna be such a pain in the ass, maybe I'll just turn back," Dean snapped, throwing up his hands and momentarily letting go of the wheel.

"Mind your tone with me, boy. You get your ass over here as fast as you can, you hear me?" Bobby yelled.

"Sorry, Bobby. I'll be there in a few hours so don't get your panties in a bunch," Dean said. He muttered a bye to Bobby and then hung up the phone.

His whole body felt sore, and a marching band was playing in his head. Then the nausea hit, and Dean groaned and squeezed his eyes shut.

When he opened them there was a tree maybe six inches away from the car, drawing closer. Dean panicked and frantically turned the steering wheel to avoid crashing, but it was too late and his precious Baby crashed into the tree with a sickening crunch sound. Dean's head collided with the steering wheel and he was rudely shoved into unconsciousness.

When Dean woke up it was cold. Freezing, actually. The cold seeped through his jacket, startling him awake. With a groan he opened his eyes. Bad idea. A dart of pain shot through Dean's head and he flinched. Slowly, he brought up a hand to his head, feeling for any damage. His hand came away dark and sticky with what was probably blood. Great.

It was still dark, so the only thing Dean could make out was the broken windshield and tree branches poking in. His seat belt was digging into his side and he probably had a bruise there. He lowered his arm to undo the belt, trying not to to jar his head. Unfortunately the movement pulled the cuts on his chest which Dean had totally forgotten about. And now his wrists were throbbing with pain.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Carefully, Dean put his hand in his pocket, pulling out his phone. Miraculously no damage had been done to his phone. He turned it on, debating who to call. The best option would obviously be Bobby since he was in a better position to help Dean. But Dean knew that Sam would bitch and moan if he hadn't been informed that his brother crashed into a tree. Wow, he must have hit his head harder than he thought since he was even considering calling Sam.

"Screw it," Dean muttered. He scrolled through his list of contacts and landed on his brother's name. The phone rang three times before it was picked up. Dean could hear Sam laughing on the other end, along with a girl. Shit. He had forgotten about Jess. Dean started to hang up when his brother's voice came through the phone.

"Dean? You okay, man?" Sam asked. God, Sam sounded so happy. But Dean would only worry his brother more by hanging up.

"Heyya, Sammy. So I kinda ran into some trouble…" Dean started. He heard Sam suck in a breath and he could almost see his brother's worried expression in his mind.

"I'll be right back, Jess," Dean heard Sam say. God, Dean was a terrible big brother.

"What happened, Dean?" Sam asked. Dean let out a breathy laugh that turned into a coughing fit. When he was finished he sighed.

"I might've crashed into a tree," Dean admitted.

"What the hell, Dean!" Sam exploded, and Dean winced at the pain his brother's loud voice brought to his head. "Are you hurt?"

"You mean besides the claw marks all over my body?" Dean smirked.

"Stop treating this like a joke, Dean. You just crashed into a goddamn tree!" Sam huffed.

"Dude, chill. I'm fine. I just hit my head. It's my Baby you should be worrying about."

"I don't care about the car, Dean. I care about my fucking brother!" Sam yelled.

"Well you didn't seem to care about your brother when you left him to go to college, Sam. You didn't seem to care about anyone but yourself," Dean blurted.

He knew it was a low blow but his mental filter was nonexistent right now and his words were slurring. He was vaguely aware that he had said something wrong, but couldn't really put his finger on what was wrong about it. Dean had tried so hard to convince himself not to be selfish, to let Sammy go. He wanted his little brother to be happy, and Sam was only happy when he felt _normal_ and away from his family. But Dean knew that deep down, he was angry at his brother. Angry at Sam for leaving him all alone.

"Dean, you should call Bobby," Sam said softly. "He can get you out of there." Dean sighed as a wave of dizziness and pain hit, and rested his head against the steering wheel.

"I think you're gonna hafta call him for me, Sammy," Dean whispered.

"Why?" Sam asked. "I mean I will if you really want me to, but why?"

"Cuz 'm gonna pass out now," Dean slurred. And then he shut his eyes and fell asleep to his brother's frantic shouts.


	3. Chapter 3

Sam had been having a pretty crappy day with his brother being mauled by a werewolf and all. He thought it would get better once he got to Jess's apartment. That was partially true.

Jess was amazing. There really was no other word to describe her. She was smart, beautiful, funny, and Sam found out they had a lot more in coming. They were in her dorm room, drinking coffee, and Sam's cheeks hurt from smiling. Then he got the phone call.

He almost didn't pick up Dean's phone. Sam assumed it was just Dean calling him to let him know he had arrived at Bobby's place. But it had only been half an hour so Dean's couldn't have reached already. So Sam sighed sadly.

"I gotta take this," he told Jess, trying to look as reluctant as possible. She smiled and nodded.

"Sure," she responded. Sam smiled at her, and then stepped outside to talk to Dean.

"Cuz 'm gonna pass out now," Dean slurred, and the line went silent.

"Dean?" Sam asked, his voice laced with panic. "Dean? Dean?! Dammit," Sam cursed and refrained from throwing his phone at the wall. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to calm himself down. Why the hell did Dean never care about his health? Why couldn't Sam have an hour's peace without worrying about his brother? God, he wanted so bad to ignore this whole situation and go back to Jess. Go back to normal. But he couldn't because Dean was his big brother, and Sam owed him at least this much.

Sam walked back into the apartment, shoulders slumped. Jess was sitting on the sofa, leafing through a magazine.

"Hey, Jess?" Sam asked. Crap, he felt terrible doing this.

"Yes?" Jess responded.

"Um, I'm really sorry, I have to go. My brother kind of got in a car crash and I need to call my uncle to help him," Sam said. Jess's face flooded with understanding and worry.

"Oh god, that's terrible! It's fine, you can leave. I won't feel bad. I totally understand."

"Thanks, Jess. Listen, I really liked spending time with you. Do you think we could do this again?" Sam asked shyly, and Jess beamed at him.

"I liked spending time with you too. You're a great guy, Sam. How about we go see a movie tomorrow?"

"Sure. I can pick you up around 7:00 if that's okay?"

"Yeah that's totally fine. I hope your brother's okay," Jess said. And then she enveloped Sam in a hug. Sam's insides turned to mush and he forgot how to breath for a second. Then he instantly felt guilty because Dean could be dying alone in his car, and Sam was here hugging a girl. Well, an extraordinary girl. Sam broke the hug, and offered Jess an apologetic smile.

"I'm really sorry," he said, and she laughed.

"It's fine, Sam, really. Go help your brother." Sam grinned, and said goodbye. As he walked back to his dorm, he called Bobby.

"Hey, Bobby?" Sam asked.

"What've you idjits got into now?" Bobby sighed.

"Dean crashed the car into a tree ."

"Dammit, boys!" Bobby exclaimed. "Did you fool of a brother happen to mention where he was at the time?"

"No, he, um, he passed out before I could ask him. But it's been a few hours since he left his hotel in North Dakota, so I'm guessing he's close by," Sam said.

"So I'm just supposed to drive around all the roads leading from my house to North Dakota looking for your brother's crashed car?" Bobby asked sarcastically.

Sam didn't know what to say. "Sorry Bobby, I didn't think-"

"I'll do it, ya idjit," Bobby sighed. Sam stopped at the door to his dorm, and almost dropped his keys.

"You will?" Sam asked, and he heard Bobby sigh frustratedly.

"Of course. Your daddy may not be my favorite person, but I sure as hell care about you boys, and I'll be damned if I let your brother bleed out on the side of the road."

Bobby's words brought a warm and genuine smile to Sam's face.

"Thanks, Bobby. You're the best," Sam said.

"I know. Now you take care of yourself, kid," Bobby ordered.

"Yeah, you too Bobby. Call me after you find Dean, okay?"

"Of course," Bobby replied, and Sam hung up. Then he finally unlocked his dorm, and collapsed on the couch, pulling his textbook onto his lap and opening it. Sam stared at the words blankly for a few seconds, thinking about Dean and Jess, and some more about Jess, and then again about Dean. And then, finally, about his dad because whenever he thought of Dean, Sam couldn't stop the thoughts of John from intruding.

Sam was going to kill John Winchester the next time they came face to face. His dad had left Dean, Sam's _brother_ , alone to hunt. Everyone knows that one of the most basic rules was to never hunt alone.

Sam wasn't stupid. He knew he had hurt his brother bad by leaving, but he had no choice. Sam couldn't stand living with John any longer, he couldn't stand not being normal. He knew that Dean didn't understand, but he was grateful that Dean was at least trying. John had been a different story…

Dammit, he shouldn't be thinking about this. He had a test to study for. Sighing, Sam heaved himself off of his comfortable couch, and sat his ass down in the hard chair in front of his desk. He tiredly slammed the textbook down, glaring at it.

"Fuck you," he groaned out loud, and then banged his head on the desk.

With great effort, Sam forced himself to push out any thoughts about Dean, or Jess, or his dad, or Bobby, and to focus on his damn textbook. But he secretly knew that he wouldn't really get any studying done tonight, not with his brother hurt. Not with Dean in danger.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wasn't sure how long he had been out, but the next thing he knew, a bright pair of car headlights were doing their best to worm their way into his skull through his closed eyelids. The sound of the car's motor followed, and Dean could swear that somebody sounding suspiciously like Bobby was shouting his name.

But that wasn't possible. Bobby couldn't be here because Bobby and dad had a fight. And Dean was still in his motel room back in North Dakota, so how could Bobby be here?

Dean heard the car door open. The car. His Baby. He was in the Impala. Then, someone was shaking his shoulder, yelling his name too loud, and it all came crashing back: the werewolf, Sam, the car drive to Bobby's, and the tree.

Dean gasped, and his eyes snapped wide open, and the sudden movement made it feel like fireworks were exploding behind his eyelids. Dean tried to curl into a ball, but he couldn't because it jostled the scratches across his chest, and god dammit, everything _hurt_.

Then Dean was aware of arms around his shoulder, and a calm, familiar voice talking to him. Dean looked up, blinking away the blurry spots in his vision, and he saw Bobby. Bobby was real, and Bobby was right next to him, looking pissed as hell, but also slightly concerned. Typical Bobby.

Dean tried to say something, but instead he leaned over, and threw up all over Bobby's shoes. Bobby made a startled sound, and stepped over to the side, never letting go of Dean's shoulders, and keeping Dean from falling face first into his own puke.

Once it felt like he had thrown up everything he had eaten this whole week, Dean's body was still racked with dry heaves. It hurt like hell to throw up when your chest is torn into ribbons. Finally, the nausea subsided, and Dean looked up into the face of a very worried Bobby Singer.

"Bobby?" Dean groaned.

"I'm gonna patch you up, and then I'm gonna kill you for being such a goddamn idiot, okay?" Bobby growled.

"Sounds good," Dean muttered, his eyes fluttering.

"Good. Now let's get you out of here."

Dean let Bobby grab his arm and hoist him out of the car. His whole body was radiating pain and his legs couldn't find any traction on the ground. They buckled under his weight, but Bobby caught him.

"What has John done to you," Bobby muttered.

Dean wanted to protest that it wasn't his dad's fault, but he knew Bobby wouldn't care. So instead he just said, "You're coming back for the car, right?"

"Can you ever worry about yourself for once, Dean?"

"Just answer the question, Bobby." Dean's eyes were closing, and he was vaguely aware that they were somehow moving and walking toward Bobby's truck.

"I'll come back for the damn car, okay? Now just let someone take care of you," Bobby said, his voice surprisingly soft.

"Okay," Dean whispered. Black spots were clouding his vision but he still managed to look up at Bobby.

"Thanks, Bobby," he mumbled. Dean saw Bobby nod, but then he was drifting off into the darkness, his last thought being _I'm sorry, Sam._

Dean woke on a soft bed to the sounds of distant, murmuring voices. Groaning, he opened his eyes to find himself in the familiar spare bedroom in Bobby's house. Sunlight was filtering through the curtains covering the window and shining down on the empty bed next to Dean's. The bed Sam usually occupied whenever the boys stayed at Bobby's.

Dean sighed and lifted his arm to cover his eyes from the light, noticing the new bandages wrapped around his wrist. Frowning, he slowly sat up, wincing as the movement pulled at his injuries. He wasn't wearing a shirt so when he looked down he saw that the cuts across his chest had been neatly stitched up. Raising his hand to his forehead, he lazily fingered the gauze wrapped around him like a bandana. Bobby had done a good job.

It was as if just the thought of Bobby brought the voice coming from outside the room into focus. Bobby was clearly on the phone with somebody.

"Yeah, he's fine, I patched him up last night and he's sleeping now," Bobby was saying. Dean realized with a jolt that he was probably talking to Sam.

"Bobby?" Dean called out, making a face at how rough his voice came out. His mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton, but he still managed to clear his throat.

"Hang on a second, he's awake," Dean heard Bobby mutter into the phone.

Bobby entered the room, looking like he hadn't slept in days. "How're you feeling, boy?" he asked.

"Better," Dean answered honestly. Bobby squinted at him for a few seconds, as if not sure Dean was telling the truth. But in the end Bobby must have believed him because he sighed and walked over to the side of the bed.

"Wanna talk to Sam?"

Dean nodded and Bobby handed him the phone, leaving the room to give Dean some privacy.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, forcing some false cheer into his voice.

"Dean! Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Dean said, picking aimlessly at a loose thread hanging from the sheets.

"Maybe because you crashed your car after being mauled by a werewolf," Sam deadpanned.

Chuckling nervously, Dean said, "So, how was your date with Jess? Sorry I interrupted."

"It was fine," Sam huffed, "I'm taking her to a movie later today."

"That's my boy. Go get 'em, tiger." Dean could practically hear Sam rolling his eyes.

There was a pause before Sam said, "Hey, Dean?"

 _Oh boy_ , Dean thought. "Yeah?"

There was more silence, then, "You know you can come visit me at Stanford any time you want, right?"

The hand picking at the loose thread froze. Dean ran a hand through his hair, trying desperately to stop the words from worming their way into his head. "Yeah," he finally choked out.

"Good," Sam said.

The long stretch of quietness had Dean squirming in the bed because he couldn't remember the last time he and Sam had been _awkward._

"Uh, okay, bye Sam. Take care of yourself," Dean said, resisting the urge to clear his throat.

"Yeah, um, you too Dean. Bye," Sam said, ending the phone call.

Dean stared at the phone for a few seconds, running his fingers over its smooth surface. He couldn't believe that Sam's voice had been coming out of it just a few moments ago. He didn't know why Sam had suddenly decided it was okay for Dean to visit him, but he _did_ know that it would be a while before he took Sam up on that offer.

Sighing, Dean tossed the phone away where it bounced off the mattress and landed promptly on the floor.

"Dammit," he muttered.

Staring at the phone lying on the floor, Dean sucked in a shuddering breath and dropped his head into his hands. He was so cold, and he was so alone.


End file.
